Rigor Mortis
by Joannabelle
Summary: True logic doesn't tend to run through Ryan's head. A post finale fic.


_Rigor mortis can be used to help estimate time of death. The onset of rigor mortis may range from 10 minutes to several hours, depending on factors including temperature (rapid cooling of a body can inhibit rigor mortis, but it occurs upon thawing). Maximum stiffness is reached around 12-24 hours post mortem. Facial muscles are affected first, with the rigor then spreading to other parts of the body. The joints are stiff for 1-3 days, but after this time general tissue decay and leaking of lysosomal intracellular digestive enzymes will cause the muscles to relax. It is interesting to note that meat is generally considered to be more tender if it is eaten after rigor mortis has passed. _

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except the order in which I've placed my letters.  
**Title:** Rigor Mortis  
**Summary:** True logic doesn't run through Ryan's head. A post finale fic.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Not really any, because the majority of people reading this have seen dead!Marissa, so reading about it wont hurt.  
**A/N:** Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine.

**Rigor Mortis**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time a car had stopped, Marissa's legs refused to bend.

A man had stepped out of the front seat, and Ryan could hear him yell to his wife to stay inside and call 911.

When a hand landed on his shoulder, he was startled.

Ryan had never realized how heavy a dead body was, but Marissa was limp and pressing down on his legs and Ryan wasn't sure if he could carry her anymore. With shaking hands he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, feeling the matted blood sticky under his fingers. Her face was white, and he could see the shadows flickering from the light of his still-burning car.

"Hey kid." A quiet voice said, above his left ear, "What's your name?"

Name?

He didn't have one any more.

And name was meaningless, stupid. He didn't need a name when Marissa was heavy on his lap, fingers still lightly clutching his rumpled shirt.

He's just the boy who crashed his car on graduation night, and killed his ex-girlfriend.

He's just the boy slumped over himself in the middle of the night, long dried tears leaving trails down his dirty cheeks, hands shaking, feet numb.

He's just the boy sitting on the road, wet tar beneath his ankles, with a silent, rigid body in his lap, who couldn't answer a simple question because he could feel Marissa's cold hand resting on his thigh.

He tilted his head upwards, his neck stiff and catching, and he could see a middle aged man with scruffy, dark hair staring down at him. A frown on his face.

Who'd have thought that after everything he and Marissa had been through, she'd end up dead on the ground because she hadn't worn her seatbelt?

He'd gotten to her just in time in Tijuana, calling the ambulance, carrying her out of the alley. He'd sat with her the entire time, patting her sweaty hair and trying to comfort a hysterical Summer, while trying to stop thinking about how she was trembling against him, how he could feel her heart pounding through the back of her shirt.

He'd found out the next day that she was alive.

"Where abouts do you live, son?" The man was asking him again, "Is there anyone you want me to call for you?"

Ryan dropped his eyes, staring at the asphalt by his toes.

There's no one to call, he wanted to say. It's graduation night.

Its graduation night, and Marissa is still, her eyes are closed, she's lying on his lap.

When Oliver held the gun, he'd been terrified. Marissa had been cowering by his side, and all Ryan could think about was getting her away from him.

He'd talked Oliver down, slowly, calmly, until the boy placed the gun on the floor, and Ryan could hear the footsteps of the security guards soft on the carpet. He'd taken a step back, watched as Marissa had thrown herself in his arms, could feel her soft hair squashed against his neck, and he'd hugged her back.

No one had trusted him, listened to him, cared about him, but as she whispered sorry by his collar, it didn't matter anymore, because Marissa was okay.

He heard the gravel crunch as the man sat down by his side, his warm hand still grasping Ryan's shoulder, the heat bleeding through his shirt. It was a harsh difference to Marissa's icy skin, and Ryan felt himself shudder as the top of his fingertips started to ache.

That night with Trey and Ryan hadn't felt anything at all.

Well, that's not entirely true. He'd been furious at first, could still taste the feeling of satisfaction as Trey hit the wall, on the underside of his tongue. But by the time Marissa had reached them he couldn't think, everything a mixture of colour and sound, and Ryan couldn't hear the gun go off, nor the sound Trey had made when he collapsed on the floor.

He could remember the hospital doors sliding open ahead of them, could see a flurry of lights, flashing red and blue, and everything had been muffled. He couldn't feel his feet hitting the ground when he ran after Trey, or smell the smothering sterile smell that accompanied a hospital, like he could the next day.

He'd watched as Trey's face grew paler, his skin oily, lines under his eyes blackening, as the doctors around him struggled to keep him alive with long instruments and strained words.

And when Ryan had heard her voice, standing out over the sound of Trey's hissing breath and the yells of the doctors, he'd turned his head, watching her speak, and _she was okay, she was okay, she was okay_, while the rest of the room had melted away.

The gravel grated harshly as he heard the man say something about his wife, but Ryan wasn't listening.

He could feel the warm body next to him rise, moving away, and Ryan's arm was suddenly cold again, making him shiver.

It had been cold the night Johnny died, too.

He'd climbed to the top of that cliff, passing a warning sign, and he'd known something bad was going to happen, but he'd brushed it off.

When Johnny had tripped, all Ryan could do was jump forward after him, stretching out his hand. The dirt had been hard, jarring into his knees, but Ryan heard the bottle smash, his fingers closing around thin air.

He hadn't needed to look at Marissa to know she wasn't alright. Not that time.

Ryan stared down at the road again, eyes glued to the bottom of Marissa's jeans.

If only he'd caught Johnny, and maybe none of this would have ever happened. He wouldn't be sitting on the ground, and Marissa wouldn't be still.

He'd have dropped her at the airport, watching her plane fly off, and stumble back to his new car.

He'd drive off and when he got back to the Cohen's he'd know there'd be an email from her waiting for him the next morning, with the sun shining in happily through his windows. He'd sigh, and brood, and wonder if she was happy, telling himself she was better off.

There'd be no sirens, or flashing lights, or burning car, and Marissa's head wouldn't be heavy by his knees.

She used to smile – _had_ smiled at him, by the pool, earlier that day – but all he could see now were her lips pouted, tipping downwards slightly, depressed, her lip-gloss shining with spite. Her face was drawn, and he'd never seen that expression on her before, not when she yelled, not when she cried, not when Johnny died, and the bottom of his stomach started to ache along with his fingers.

He would never get to see her smile again.

He would never get to see her twirl that vodka bottle in her hand, sneering at him, reminding him of his mother. She'd never be able to blame it on him, and pass out, and beg him to listen to her the next morning, promise him she wouldn't do it again. And he'd never be able to delude himself that maybe she was telling the truth, because her face was white, her eyes were sunken, and she was lying on the ground, not a drink in sight.

When his hair was brushed off his forehead, Ryan finally looked up.

He could feel the red flashing lights burning his skin, and a medic stood over him, mouth moving repeatedly, but Ryan couldn't understand what they were trying to say.

There was no point in them being there, he figured. Marissa had left a long time ago, when her hand was still squeezing his shirt, and he could see her taking shallow breaths, mist floating out in front of her face. Back when she asked him to stay. Back when he could call her name, and pretend he didn't know what her silence meant, pretend he could still feel her shuddering breaths against his shaking hands.

He could hear crackling voices coming from a black box on the medic's belt, and his mind came back with a jolt to what was going on around him. There were fingers pressing into his skin, questions bouncing around his head, and he watched as a man started to pry his hands off Marissa's cold, dead neck.

A light was shining in his eyes, and the world turned a blur. He had a stab of déjà vu as he watched the scene around him start to sag, trees, lights, sounds, trickling downwards in front of his eyes, like that night with Trey. Marissa's face was tipped to the side, and he couldn't see her anymore, as the smoke from his burning car seemed to rush at his face, sliding in his mouth, down his throat, out his nose.

The last thing Ryan would remember was the feeling of Marissa's stiff legs, moving, and the sound of fuzzy static cushioning his ears, as his head fell to the gravel with a crunch.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_end. _

Flame me! The button is open to all. :)


End file.
